


A Killer Hangover

by dandyli0n



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Changbin Has A Bad Time: The Fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Drowning, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Gun Violence, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, I REPEAT: IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE TAGS DO NOT READ THIS PLEASE, Mild Gore, Oh wait, Suicide, Vomiting, a lot of it, but y'know., in general do not read this it's a mess, ish, let me know if I forgot anything?, question mark?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyli0n/pseuds/dandyli0n
Summary: Changbin wakes up with a hangover after a party at Chan's place. Turns out the party turned a little sour while he was out.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	A Killer Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE. MIND. THE. TAGS.
> 
> there is DEATH, CORPSE DESCRIPTION, SUICIDE, a lot of BLOOD, VOMITING. if that's something you're not comfortable with please, PLEASE click away for everyone's good! I love you and I will see you in another work you'll be more comfy with!
> 
> with that out of the way. this is mostly a writing exercise for myself. if I've ever tried to write something like this before, it has been a long time since that so. don't expect any writing excellence from it okay <3
> 
> I was inspired by [Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5NqIsnyTG8) by Panic! At the Disco, I can hear you gasping in disbelief, I know.
> 
> A LITTLE DISCLAIMER: I love all SKZ members and I wish them only the best and I'm sorry that I've made all of them suffer or perhaps made some of them not act like very good people in this. this work has nothing to do with the actual people! they're at the end of the day only my muses <3
> 
> ok now enjoy??????

Changbin woke up with a  _ killer headache _ . It took him almost five minutes to blink his eyes open, every inch of his body protesting against even the slightest of movements. He came face to face with a clear, obnoxiously bright blue sky. He was outside - he was  _ outside _ ? Where the hell did he pass out? He remembered that he was at a party last night; a party at Chan’s, which was something so unusual that he couldn’t even fathom passing up on that.

Who wouldn’t want to get drunk with their friends by their filthy rich best friend’s pool?

Someone who wouldn’t have wanted to wake up with as much of a hangover as Changbin was suffering from just now. Maybe he took something, too. Everything was honestly blurry from the very first drink, that weird-smelling foreign champagne they toasted to celebrate Chan’s anniversary of five years of sticking with his current job. What a weird Chan thing to celebrate. He really was a workaholic through and through.

Slowly, Changbin’s other senses came to life. He felt something cool and hard against his naked back and legs, something softly brushing the fingers of his left arm where it was thrown to the side, hanging limply down some ledge or other, mostly numb.

There was a horrible smell in the air, so overwhelming that he struggled to figure out  _ what _ it even smelled like. It smelled like something  _ died _ out here. As the smell settled in his nose, he felt his stomach heaving, and all of a sudden his sluggish body was moving on its own and he leaned over the same ledge his arm was hanging from before, puking his guts out into what turned out to be Chan’s pool.

Chan’s pool that was filled with pink water.

Changbin’s stomach turned again, and when he lifted his head, his stomach cramped and he threw up again, the bile burning his already sore throat as it came up. There was a body floating on the surface of the water, what was exposed of its skin swollen and blue. He didn’t  _ want _ to look at it again, but something in him  _ needed _ to know who it was. Even though he was shaking uncontrollably as he crawled along the edge of the pool closer to it, he knew that he couldn’t run back into the house without checking.

There were only eight of them at that party. That body… that  _ person _ was one of his friends. All of the blood that mixed with the pool water belonged to one of his-

_ Hyunjin _ . It was Huynjin.

Shoulder-length dark hair floated around his head like a halo, the loose dark satin shirt that made Changbin’s breath hitch when he saw him wear it last night clinging to his back and floating around him like an inky stain in the pink water.

Hyunjin. What  _ used _ to be Hyunjin.

What the  _ fuck _ happened last night.

He scrambled to his feet, his head pounding and stomach churning - he had to call the police; why did nobody call the police? A glance around the pool told him that he and Hyu- that he was alone in the back garden. Were they inside? Maybe they passed out, too. Maybe they’re waiting for the police to come right now.

On shaky feet, he had made his way around the pool, noticing the pool of dried blood on the other side from where he was laying. Hyunjin must have been hurt before he fell in the pool… or he fell in the pool because he was hurt? There was no bloody trail leading to the back door, so whatever happened had to have happened right by the pool.

Changbin stared at the stain on the tile, struggling to remember, but everything was muddy. From somewhere in the depths of his memory, he heard a disgusting squelching sound. Gurgling like someone was struggling to breathe. A splash.

No. That was just his imagination. Even blackout drunk, he wouldn’t have let anything happen to Hyunjin. He  _ loved _ Hyunjin. Maybe more than he should as his older brother figure. He didn’t let this happen to him. He couldn’t have.

There was no way.

He shuffled his way to the back door, only to freeze again when he saw his own reflection in the glass panel. For some reason, he was mostly naked, only covered by his underwear, streaks of… was that  _ dried blood _ ? On his fingers, arms and chest. Now that he noticed it, it was itchy and flaking, but he refused to touch it to rub it off, his skin crawling with the knowledge that it was probably Hyunjin’s.

Changbin needed a shower. And to call the fucking police.

The glass panel got shoved out of the way with much more force than necessary, making a sound that would have made Changbin cringe if he was not already ready to jump right out of his skin.

“ _ Chan! _ ” he shouted without any regard for who was or was not awake, this was a fucking  _ emergency _ . “Get the fuck over here!”

There was no response, but he didn’t wait for one as he walked further into the kitchen, making past the elbow of the L-shaped counter, trying to get to the landline nestled in the corner. Who put the landline in a spot that was this difficult to reach, anyway?

In his haste to get to the phone, Changbin almost slipped in a pool of blood, and he had to catch himself on the marble countertop. He froze right after, right where he was, awkwardly half-leaned forward.

He almost stepped on it. He almost stepped on Minho.

It barely looked like him; there were deep gouges in his face, like it got sliced open in multiple places, and his neck… he barely had a neck anymore, it was just a mess of skin, flesh and exposed bone, barely keeping his head attached to his body. Changbin could barely tell that the only piece of clothing covering his body was the same white silk shirt he had on the day before - hardly a piece of it was still  _ white _ ; it was all encrusted with blood.

Like wine stains, Changbin’s mind offered unhelpfully. Minho liked wine; it wasn’t the first time Changbin had seen him with a red-stained shirt, it wasn’t even the first time the two of them were alone in this kitchen, mostly naked together.

His stomach turned again, this time at his own thought process - how could he be thinking about this  _ now _ ? Was he going  _ crazy _ ? Hyunjin’s death could have been an accident, but Minho… Minho had been murdered. By  _ whom _ ? Were they still there? Why didn’t they kill Changbin? Did they try?

Mumbling a quick apology to Minho’s deaf ears, he scrambled to step over him and to the landline, grabbing the receiver and crouching down to hopefully stay hidden from view from the dining room if anyone was actually still in the house.

_ Anyone _ . Whoever did this.  _ Who could have done this? _ They never did anything to anyone. They were just a group of old friends from college.

The landline was dead.

Changbin’s legs gave out under him and pain radiated from his tailbone up his spine as he hit the hard tile. His knuckles were white with the tight grip he crushed the receiver in. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

He stared into Minho’s empty eyes as he trembled all over. Who. Why. When. How.

Was he going to die, too?

It seemed like Minho hadn’t died recently - most of the blood had dried except for where it pooled. A few hours, maybe? Hyunjin must have been out there for a while, too.

Maybe he was safe. Maybe he was not.

But what about Felix? Jisung, Seungmin, Innie,  _ Chan _ ?

Changbin nodded a little to the question his whirling, delirious mind saw in Minho’s blank stare.

_ You’ll make sure they’re okay, right? _

“Right.”

Those were his best friends. His brothers. He owed it to them to check, to make sure they’re okay, to help them if he could. He couldn’t just stay here with Minho and cry and wait for someone to either save him or kill him. He couldn’t run and try to find safety - not that that was really an option if there  _ was _ still a killer around, with how far Chan’s stupid fucking millionaire mansion was from civilization. Chan barely even  _ lived here _ , what did he even keep this property for?

It was for his friends. Chan did fucking everything for his friends - even pay property tax on a house he didn’t give a fuck about so they could party in it together once in a blue moon.

Maybe they should have known better than to still try to party like college kids this close to 30. He supposed this was their punishment for trying to be forever young - none of them was going to ever get old.

He barely recognized his own thought process. What the  _ fuck _ was wrong with him?

Instead of dwelling in his disgust for himself further, he reached out to grab the countertop and pull himself up to his feet. The muscles in his arms and legs protested, wanting to lock up from the cold, the stress and the fear, but he forced himself to stand up, swapped the receiver in his hand for one of the knives from the knife stand next to it.

One of the knives was missing. Chan’s precious chef’s knife, the one with a long, wide blade. His eyes dropped back to the mess that remained of Minho’s throat, and he found himself heaving uselessly in the sink just moments later.

He was making too much noise. He had to get moving before someone came to get him. Suddenly he realized that he’d called Chan’s name when he entered - if someone was still in the house, surely they would have come to get him by now, right?

It settled something in his chest at the same time as it made it tighten with worry.  _ His _ chances of being safe were higher, then, but the other guys’ didn’t look so good.

With newfound caution, he stepped over Minho again and made his way through the archway into the dining room - he was immediately hit by the overwhelming smell of gasoline mixed with the same  _ stench _ that he smelled outside, only even worse now in the enclosed space. There were beer bottles strewn over the table, vaguely familiar - he felt the phantom sensation of the lip of a beer bottle against his lips. Hooting and hollering like nineteen-year-olds. Chugging beers like they couldn’t afford to buy anything stronger than that. Coughing and thrashing and…

_ Jisung _ .

Jisung, on the other side of the dining table, with his mouth wide open, surrounded by blistered, burned skin, stained with blood like he was coughing it up in his final moments. Jisung.  _ Jisungie _ . The yin to his yang. The reason why he learned to love his work. They completed each other, in a way…  _ used to _ .

This couldn’t be true. No. No way. Not Jisung. He would have run. He would have run like  _ hell _ the second things got even a little dicey. He was a scaredy cat, Jisung had always been such a scaredy cat…

Changbin hadn’t been there to protect him. Couldn’t have been. He wouldn’t have allowed this. He wouldn’t have. He would have died himself just to make sure he’d be safe.  _ Right? _

Minho would never let him get away with this. Jisung had always been his favorite among the younger boys. Always getting doted on. Minho was going to kill  _ him _ when he found out.

It was what he deserved, though. Jisung had helped give his life meaning, and he had let him die.  _ Pathetic. Fucking pathetic _ .

He could feel tears in his eyes as he turned away, and he had to lean on the bookcase dividing the dining room from the living space, suddenly short of breath. It didn’t end with Jisung; there were still others that needed him.

When he looked up just to see Seungmin’s dead body, it felt like the universe was mocking him for still having a shred of hope to see any of his friends alive. He realized all of a sudden why the smell had been worse here than in the kitchen - the smell of death and gasoline was mixed with the lingering smell of burned flesh. Seungmin’s body rested with its head in the fireplace, face buried in the embers, probably the only small mercy in the whole horrifying scene. There was more blood all over the couch and carpet, but Cangbin didn’t stop to study it. He had to keep going.

Felix’s body barely shocked him, and Changbin felt sorry for him, so infinitely sorry that when he looked out through the tall windows in the foyer and saw his broken body lying in a bloody heap in the front garden, he could barely find the energy in himself to feel sad, to be devastated or horrified. Maybe the shock was only setting in now.

He lingered at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor. For all intents and purposes, he could just leave now. There was no reason to prolong his own suffering. They were all dead, he was sure of that now. Every single one of them. All his friends were dead.

That was it, though. They were his friends; he had to see. Whispering an apology to Felix, he sluggishly made his way up the stairs. Completely resigned. Exhausted. He wanted to say goodbye to his friends and then lay down in Chan’s bed and sleep forever. His head was pounding; his muscles protesting.

One door in the hall at the top of the stairs was open.

It was the upstairs bathroom; there was vomit all over the floor tiles, and a drawn bath, with a body limply hanging halfway in and halfway out, head floating on the surface of the water just like Hyunjin’s did. Changbin didn’t have to come closer to know; it was too lanky to be Chan. This is where Jeongin died.

Nodding to himself, Changbin closed the door behind himself respectfully.

That left Chan.

Changbin found himself writing him an obituary in his mind as he searched the other rooms for his body. Good friend. Good son. Good brother. Workaholic, the self-sacrificial type. Rarely let himself have what he wanted, preferring to help others reach  _ their _ dreams. A good guy. A really, really good guy. Maybe could have used a vacation. In a way,  _ this _ was supposed to be his vacation.

Well. Chan wouldn’t have to go to work ever again, that was for sure.

He stopped before the last door - Chan’s room. Not his bedroom, which he was rarely ever in, but  _ his room _ . His work room, ergo his life room. The most  _ him _ room in the house. It would make sense for him to die there, too. Changbin wondered how they did him in. Strangle him with a headphone cord? It would be morbidly fitting.

The last thing he expected was for the night to have yet another plot twist, to find one more way of sending his stomach flying into his throat. Because Chan was  _ alive _ . Chan was alive, sitting behind his work desk with a gun in his hands, examining it quietly.

Chan raised his head to look at Changbin, and a chill went down Changbin’s spine at the sight of how  _ dead _ they were. Empty and cold - just like Minho’s unseeing ones in the kitchen, but Chan was still breathing.

“Changbin.” Dead inside, maybe; his tone of voice would imply so. “What the fuck?”

He wasn’t standing up. He wasn’t rushing to Changbin or explaining what happened. He didn’t even look  _ happy _ to see him, just vaguely confused.

“How did you survive?”

“Survive what?” So they  _ did _ try to kill him. “What the fuck is going on?”

Chan’s eyes dropped to the gun. “I thought I put in enough of that shit to kill you three times over.”

_ Oh _ . It was Chan. It was  _ fucking Chan _ . The weird-tasting toast; it probably had the poison in it - Chan planned it, Chan planned all of it. This wasn’t an accident; he  _ wanted _ this to happen. He invited them out here to kill them.

“ _ Why? _ ” For the first time since he found Jisung, Changbin found the energy to cry. He always looked up to Chan - to his kindness and diligence and willingness to give all of himself to others. That was probably all a fucking lie. Chan was a psychopath or something, Chan was…

Chan was crying, too. Sobbing into his own palm while the other clutched at the gun; gasping for breath. “ _ I’m so fucking tired, Changbin _ .”

A quiet, weak voice; one he hadn’t heard since college, the spare few times Chan broke under the pressure he kept putting  _ himself _ under. Changbin used to joke with him and give him half hugs, listen to his worries until he felt better.

On this day, all he wanted to do was punch Chan in the face.

“I just wanted to be with you guys,” what usually was a voice of a friend in pain sounded like whining to him. “I just wanted us to be the way we were in college again.”

“ _ So you decided to kill us? _ ” His voice was raw but compared to Chan’s pitiful, reedy one it sounded like a roar. “That’s a fucked-up way to have a throwback, Chan.”

“You don’t get it! I  _ know _ that’s a bullshit dream - it’s never gonna be the way it used to be again.” There were tears streaming down Chan’s face and Changbin’s heart was broken, but he had no pity, no sympathy left for this man who  _ used to be _ his friend, but now was a stranger. “But like this…”

“ _ What _ , Chan. What the fuck do you think you have accomplished?”

“This way, we can party together again in hell.”

With that, Chan turned the gun against himself and pulled the trigger. Bits of bone, brains and blood painted the wall behind him. Changbin stared, shakes wracking his entire body. Tears were streaming down his face, but he barely registered them.

He turned around, closing the door behind himself respectfully, then found the door to Chan’s bedroom. He crawled in between the sheets, pulled them against himself as tight as he possibly could, and he went to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take breaks from work kids. It's important.
> 
> I wrote this while extremely stressed about school can you tell.
> 
> Joke I Couldn't Put In The Summary Because Spoilers: What if you took the Hangover movie but they all just... died?


End file.
